


An Evening with Daddy

by telera



Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Feeding, Humiliation, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telera/pseuds/telera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt at the tronkinkmeme: “Because there's never enough daddy!kink around to satisfy me. Spanking, humiliation and feeding by hand are a must. Bonus points if Tronzler is irritated at having to vaccuum when they make a mess”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Evening with Daddy

The sandwich was cut in half, the crispy bacon and thick mayonnaise dripping on to the plate. Sam had been staring at it for what it felt like hours, unable to tear his eyes from the fresh lettuce and the ripe tomato slices. It was well beyond his reach, but he could smell it from his kneeling position on the floor, his mouth watering with every passing second.  
  
Sam tested once more the light rope around his wrists and ankles. He knew it wouldn’t break, but he couldn’t help trying it. After a futile struggle, Sam’s eyes went again to the soft white bread and he licked his lips wondering what it would taste like. He didn’t know how the fucker had got it, maybe they had food synthesizers somewhere, but what Sam did know was that he would never pay the price to eat it.  
  
 _Tonight, you call me Daddy._  
  
Sam had felt so sickened that he had escaped the hold of the guards and had thrown a punch to CLU’s face. It was only a matter of seconds before he was subdued and bound with the light rope.   
  
 _You will call me Daddy tonight, Sam. I promise.  
_  
The program had left the food in clear view of Sam and had sprawled out on his throne to enjoy the Disc Wars. The guards left, and the minutes started to tick.   
  
Warrior after warrior was derezzed in the Arena. Sam didn’t know how long he had been there, but probably a lot if the pain in his knees was anything to go by. He shifted his weight from one knee to the other and grunted lowly. That caught CLU’s attention, who turned to him with a smug grin on his face.  
  
‘Hungry yet, son?’  
  
‘I’m not your son, you freak!’ Sam snarled, and spat at him. He didn’t hit his mark, of course, CLU was too far for that, but it was all Sam could do to vent his anger and helplessness.  
  
‘Tsk, tsk’ the program murmured as he stood up from his comfortable couch ‘I didn’t raise you to be such a dirty, filthy boy’.  
  
CLU grabbed Sam by his suit’s neck and dragged him forward until he was right above the spit on the floor.  
  
‘Now you’re going to clean it’.  
  
‘Fuck you!’ Sam cried, but CLU grabbed his hair and forced his head down until his nose was almost touching the spit.  
  
‘Clean it’ he ordered, but Sam shook his head stubbornly, trembling with rage and the pain of the strained position.  
  
‘I won’t say it again’ the program warned in a menacing voice, and Sam felt his gloved fingers digging into his scalp.   
  
‘Fuck… you’ he managed between clenched teeth, and suppressed a groan of pain at the exertion the fucker was putting on his neck and shoulders.  
  
‘Very well, then’ he sentenced, as he pushed Sam’s head further down and rubbed his face all over the spit.  
  
‘There’ he said using Sam’s lips and cheeks to wipe the spit out ‘All clean now’.  
  
He released his hold and ruffled Sam’s hair.   
  
‘You tell daddy when you’re hungry, and I’ll give you that sandwich, OK?’  
  
Sam would have liked to reply something scathing and full of venom, but all he could think about was wiping his lips on the fabric of his shoulder. It was bad enough he was kneeling by the fucker’s throne as some piece of furniture, but being used as a mop was just too much. And the struggle had brought him even closer to the sandwich over the small table, and Sam could now see the grated cheese on top of the bread.  
  
A whimper escaped him and he felt tears stinging his eyes, but he squeezed his eyes shut to avoid crying. He wouldn’t give the fucker that satisfaction. Unable to stand the view of the sandwich anymore, Sam lied awkwardly down and curled up in a ball on the floor.  
  
***  
  
Sam felt it had been hours since he had been lying there. Avoiding the sight of the food had helped him at first, but he could still smell it, and his stomach growled painfully in protest. He was also feeling weak and dizzy, how long had it been since he had last eaten?   
  
Sam chewed on his inner lip to deceive his brain, he had to be strong and resist it, but the hunger was blinding him, and he was reaching the point where he’d do anything for a bite of the sandwich. Sam realised he couldn’t stand the torture a moment longer, and he heard himself speak in a thready voice:  
  
‘Please… Please…’  
  
He knew he was begging and the tears welled up in his eyes again. A wave of relief washed all over him when CLU crouched down next to him.  
  
‘Please, I…’ he croaked out, his lips dry and cracked.  
  
‘Hungry?’ the program smiled, and Sam nodded in silence.  
  
‘Well’ CLU reached out with his hand and caressed Sam’s cheek ‘You know what I want to hear’.  
  
Sam took a shaky breath, his head spinning in a desperate attempt to find something that would satisfy the program and would get him the food without debasing himself  _that_ much.  
  
‘Look, you… You just throw bits of the sandwich to the floor and I… I’ll eat them, right? I’ll eat them off the floor, I promise, but please, I can’t-’  
  
‘Sam, Sam’ CLU pinched his cheek affectionately ‘I don’t want a pet. I already have one. I want you to be my good, obedient son, and you won’t get any food until you do so’.  
  
Sam bit his lip so hard it bled. He felt sick at the very idea, but the other option was starving to death, and he knew the program could very well let him die of hunger. The prospect terrified him at a primal level, his instincts kicked in and screamed it was only one word, only one word and his survival would be assured. In the end, his stomach took the decision for him, and Sam spoke the words he had sworn never to speak only a few hours ago:  
  
‘Please, daddy’.  
  
The program smiled broadly, and pulled Sam to his feet.  
  
‘Oh, Sam’ he whispered into his ear ‘Daddy’s here to feed you’.  
  
The light rope around his ankles disappeared in a red flash of code, and CLU made Sam take a few trembling steps until he was in front of the throne. He rested his hands on Sam’s shoulders and pushed until he slumped down to his knees again.  
  
‘I think this is your favourite’ he said picking up the plate and sitting down in front of the kneeling Sam ‘Mmm, let’s see’.  
  
The program left the plate on his lap and examined the sandwich.  
  
‘Bacon and lettuce and tomato and…’  
  
Sam felt he was about to faint right there and then.  
  
‘ _Daddy_ ’ he pleaded, and CLU grinned.  
  
‘Of course, Sam. Open’ and he poised the sandwich on Sam’s lips. Sam gave a bite eagerly, oblivious to the little voice in his head that wondered how fucked up you had to be to accept being hand fed by someone you called ‘Daddy’. Sam didn’t pay attention to that voice, because who cared about that when tasty bacon and soft bread were filling your mouth? There would be time to think later.  
  
Sam swallowed his first bite and sighed, opening his mouth for more, and waiting patiently until CLU offered the sandwich again.  
  
‘Good, isn’t it, kiddo?’ and Sam nodded. The affectionate word seared his ears, but he paid no attention, fascinated as he was watching the program crumble a bit off the sandwich and offering it with his fingers.  
  
‘Here’ and Sam leant forward and took the bit with his lips, swirling his tongue over the gloved fingers to taste as much mayonnaise as he could.  
  
CLU chuckled and prepared another bite.  
  
‘That’s my good boy’ he praised and fed him the morsel, satisfied by Sam’s subjugation, but knowing it had been too easy. It was only a matter of time the boy defied him again, and CLU was counting on it.  
  
‘You’ve got such an eager mouth, son’ he said feeding him another bit but pushing his fingers past the boy’s lips ‘Will you suck everything daddy puts here?’  
  
The gloved fingers played with Sam’s tongue and went back into his throat, making him gag and recoil in horror at the implication.  
  
‘Fuck you freak’ Sam growled, his sense of self returning now his hunger had been quenched ‘You’re not my father’.  
  
CLU left the half-eaten sandwich and considered Sam.  
  
‘Such language. I think I’ll have to teach you a lesson’.  
  
He stood and walked to a small section on the wall of the throne room, where he started to spin some white code. It was all Sam needed to stand up from the floor and run to the door. It didn’t open, and Sam cried in frustrated rage, throwing himself against the door over and over again, but all to no avail. It was securely locked and when he turned to think of an alternate escape route, CLU was standing behind him.   
  
‘You’re a foul mouthed little boy’ he murmured in a cold voice ‘And I just have here what you need’.  
  
Sam recoiled, but only managed to corner himself against the wall. With his hands still bound at his back, there was not much he could do, and although he tried to knee kick the program, he failed miserably. CLU pinned him down and pinched his nose with more force than was necessary. Sam opened his mouth to breathe and felt something cold and wet pushing past his lips. It burned his tongue immediately, and his eyes went wild as realization dawned on him. Soap. The fucker was rubbing his tongue and teeth with a bar of soap.   
  
Sam gurgled and thrashed wildly, but all he achieved was banging his head against the wall behind him and having the soap pushed deeper into his mouth.   
  
‘This is the last time I hear such bad language from you, son’ the program threatened, pulling the bar in and out and filling Sam’s mouth with white suds ‘Is it clear?’  
  
The fingers pinching his noise suddenly left and Sam took a deep breath, taking the smell and the taste of the soap deeper down his throat. When his mouth was positively foaming CLU took the soap out and released Sam, who fell over the program retching and sick. He tried to vomit, but his stomach refused to cooperate, the food from before too precious to let it go so soon.  
  
‘And now’ CLU said force walking him to the couch in front of the wide windows ‘The real lesson begins’.  
  
Sam didn’t register what was happening until it was too late. He was colleting all the bits of soap stuck on his teeth with his tongue to spit them cleanly, when he suddenly found himself pulled down on to the coach. CLU was already sitting in the middle, and positioned Sam face down across his lap.  
  
‘Hey, wait!’ he tried, panic raising in him again. He kicked and writhed, but soon he felt a light rope binding his ankles and creeping up his legs and thighs in an intricate pattern. A sudden fear paralised him as he felt his suit derezzing.  
  
‘Stop!’ he shrieked ‘What are you doing?!’  
  
Sam heard a faint click and CLU’s voice was booming loud and clear in the Games Arena.  
  
‘Greetings programs!’ Sam turned his head and saw a huge screen materialising where the Disc Wars warriors had been fighting a moment ago. It was tridimensional and the image projected was the interior of throne room, with a magnified close-up of CLU’s couch and a naked and tied up Sam on his lap.  
  
‘He lost at the Disc Wars. He lost the light cycles challenge.’ The crowd booed as Sam squirmed frantically over CLU’s lap ‘This User is so useless he would loose at a game of Tic-Tac-Toe’.  
  
The crowd laughed and Sam felt his cheeks burn in shame.  
  
‘But never fear, my programs. At last I have found a punishment befitting my opponent!’  
  
And with that the first blow fell on Sam’s ass, so strong and unforgiving Sam cried out in shocked pain. The crowd went wild then, cheering and clapping and making bets on how many blows he would take. The odds lighted on a column on the screen, but Sam couldn’t bare to see himself there, so he turned his head away and buried his face on the couch, the shame of being publicly humiliated impossible to bear.   
  
CLU was spanking him like any program would, with unrelenting precision, left cheek, right cheek, left cheek, right cheek, in a constant rhythm and with the same brutal force each and every time. Sam’s ass was burning, and the more he struggled the more the light rope bit into his skin.   
  
‘Stop!’ he yelled ‘STOP!’  
  
But that only made the crowd laugh harder, and to his unending mortification, Sam realised the programs on the Arena were keeping count of the blows with an excited chanting,  _Eighteen! Nineteen!_  
  
It was too much, CLU’s hand felt like hot metal against his heated flesh, and - _Twenty_ _!_ \- Sam knew he - _Twenty-one!_ \- had to stop - _Twenty-two!_ \- it at all costs.  
  
‘Daddy, please’ he sobbed, warm tears trickling down his flushed face ‘Please, stop, daddy, please’.  
  
 _BOOOOOOOOOO!_ The crowd shouted when CLU’s hand froze mid blow in the air.  
  
Sam whimpered in relief, knowing he only had this chance of convincing the program to stop.  
  
‘Make them go’ he hiccupped ‘Don’t let them see me like this and I promise… I promise I’ll be good. Your good boy, daddy, I swear’.  
  
CLU rested his hand on Sam’s reddened skin and caressed the abused ass tenderly. It took Sam some moments to register the windows of the ship had gone black and no more sound could be heard from the Arena.  
  
He sniffed and rubbed his tears against the couch, unaware CLU had derezzed the light rope binding his wrists.  
  
‘Come here, son’ the program instructed, helping Sam to roll over and straddle his lap. Sam hissed as his tender flesh brushed the program’s thighs, and he rested all his weight on his knees. The position left him spread and vulnerable, and he blushed crimson as he realised he was stark naked.   
  
‘What do you say?’   
  
Sam averted his eyes and swallowed hard.  
  
‘Thank you, daddy’ he said in a little voice.  
  
CLU smiled and tapped Sam’s bottom lip with his forefinger.  
  
‘Thirsty?’  
  
Sam nodded, and realised a blue drink had materialised over the arm of the couch. CLU reached out and took a long swig, holding it in his mouth and raising an eyebrow invitingly.   
  
Sam thought about refusing, but was just too scared about what the consequences could be. The searing pain on his ass and the image of his face on the screen made him lean forward and kiss the program on his lips. The warm liquid flooded his mouth, followed by CLU’s claiming tongue, and at that point Sam knew starving to death would have been a better fate than this.


End file.
